


When The Lights Are Dim (& Your Hands Are Shaking)

by define_serenity



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Escort Service, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine hires Sebastian as an escort for pure physical satisfaction. As time progresses, however, he feels like he wants to know Sebastian. But is that something Sebastian is willing to surrender? </p><p>SERIES OF STAND-ALONE ONESHOTS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning After

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Morning, killer](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25032) by firsova. 



> Title taken from _Lying Is The Most Fun_ by Panic! at the Disco. There might be more of this one day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after his night with Sebastian, Blaine can't avoid thinking back on their time together.

“Morning, killer,” the confident cadence of the voice runs alongside the shiver up his spine, shattering the composure he’d been able to recapture when he woke this morning. He hadn’t dared to glance to his right, afraid the bed might be empty, afraid it wouldn’t be at all–instead he’d returned to his everyday routine, grabbed an outfit, showered, dragged a comb through his curls ( _unlike fingers the night before, which dug and clasped and pulled, guided him around the cock in his mouth)_.

Now there’s that body occupying the same space as him again, a stunning half-naked reflection in the mirror, and it’s harder to breathe ( _like his breath caught the moment he laid eyes on the man at his doorstep, more handsome than his pictures had suggested)_.

He swallows hard, tries his best not to conjure the sensation of smooth skin and tight muscles underneath his fingertips, of limbs stretched long on the bed, the butterfly tattoo where a hipbone strained against skin.

“You’re still here,” he says, his hands shaking too much for him to button his sleeves. He gives up and curls his fingers around the edges of the sink, trying so hard not to see, not to feel all over again ( _loss of control when lips wrapped around his cock, all sense of self nothing but a shattered illusion in the wake of a tongue and fingers and heated skin against his own)._

“You asked me to stay,” the voice– _he_ –says, his name ( _“Sebastian,” he whimpered_.) imprinted on his lips over and over again. He closes his eyes and grabs on tighter, skin turning white from the strain ( _“Please,” he groaned while fingers curled inside his ass and his cock lay leaking against his abdomen, fingernails scratching at the sheets_ ).

Heat coils inside his stomach at the mere thought of what spurned the words last night (early this morning), the other man’s pupils blown, the almost imperceptible sliver of green impenetrable, but the connection between them, even if paid for, was too tempting to release.

The body pushes in tighter behind him, groin to his ass, and lust blinks through him in tight pulses, hot and heavy, over and over again. His cock twitches and a breath shudders out of him, but he refuses to give in–it’s back to the familiar pattern of real life, where guys like Sebastian exist only in fantasy and he’s the guy who believes in love.

“You do remember, don’t you?” –a tongue teases at his ear– “After I came in that mouth of yours,” –hands at his waist and a body he pushes back into ( _semen down his throat and the man he’d unraveled making the most delicious sounds_ )– “All over your chest.” –( _hips bucking hard as release rolled through them both, come beading on his chest_ )– “Inside your ass.”

“I–” he chokes out, Sebastian’s words shamefully filthy like he’d instructed yesterday ( _jaw clenched tight against things now verbalized to a complete stranger_ ), “I’d like you to leave.”

“Sure.” Sebastian pushes a kiss to his hair but backs off, his touch lingering only in memory now. “Your call.”

The weight on his chest abates and he opens his eyes again, releasing his viselike grip on the sink, his knuckles sore. “The rest of your money’s on the table,” he calls, allows himself one glance into the bedroom, where Sebastian pulls his shirt over his head again, the curve his spine makes a dance in slow motion.

Sebastian might be one of the most stunning men he’s ever seen, his beauty as effortless as his charm, even though he can’t decide how much of that’s an act; his necklaces clink metallic as he pulls them from his shirt ( _“Leave them on,” he whispered, and Sebastian did, along with the leather wrist band that left red marks across his thighs_ ).

He follows Sebastian out into the living room, the extra night’s fee waiting for Sebastian in a small envelope.

“Very generous, killer,” Sebastian says, leafing through the notes with his long fingers before he glances up from under his brow, a glint in his eyes that had disappeared upon his asking last night. “Does that mean I’ll see you again?”

“I–” he hesitates, reluctant to sound too eager, shame forcing his hands in his pockets and his head down. “Yes,” he says, because it’s the best solution to his more immediate needs, no strings, no questions.

“Well then.” Sebastian closes the distance between them and curls his index finger under his chin, forcing him to look up again. He doesn’t get a kiss, as he expected, but the promise of more nights spent in each other’s company.

“Until next time,” Sebastian says. 


	2. Night Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine books Sebastian for another full night, but his anxiety threatens to get the best of him.

He runs his hands from his thighs to his knees, clammy from anxiety, his heartbeat an imperceptible notch faster than usual, staring at the dials of the clock between every two breaths.

It’s two to seven and he’s been waiting for half an hour, despite having taken his time to get ready.

He’d left work a little after five and cooked dinner while checking the mail. Around 5:30 his phone buzzed with the text, “Thinking about you, killer. Can’t wait to see you.” He read the words in Sebastian’s voice and they settled below his waist, followed by the sting of shame once reminded of the wad of money still folded in his jacket pocket.

His nerves traveled straight to his stomach, the anticipation turning him electrified. He’d showered longer than was necessary, set the tap to cold as some twisted punishment for succumbing to his needs once more. The apartment was deathly silent, had been for too long now, and he got dressed surrounded by that same oppressive silence, the cotton of his shirt fresh against his clean skin.

He grabbed the money and unfolded every bill separately, pushed the envelope around until it lay linear with the edges of the table, washed his hands.

And then the wait had started.

It’s harder than last time because he knows the body that’ll walk through that door, the reactions it can coax from him, the beautiful thin lips he’d outlined with his own, the long fingers that dug deep. It’s harder because he wants it more, his desire tenfold his shame, even though they battled for dominance in quieter moments.

This is his choice. ( _What would people think?_ )

It’s his life. ( _He’s not this person._ )

He needs this. ( _He’s stronger than this._ )

There’s a knock at the door at seven sharp and his heart jumps, his skin crawls, his cock jerking in interest. He closes his eyes and attempts to steady his breathing.

“It’s open,” he calls and stands up, his hands as sweaty as they were a few minutes ago.

The door opens and closes, and it seems an eternity before Sebastian comes into view–the sight of him shouldn’t turn him on, despite their arrangement he can’t stand to think of Sebastian as some object he’s using for his personal satisfaction, but Sebastian looks so _effortless_ in every which way, his smile and posture and how he moves.

( _He’s not–_ )

_Don’t think about him. Not now._

“Hey there, killer,” a smile smoothes across the other man’s face. “I missed you.”

“Please, don’t–” He twists a hand inside his pants pocket, digs his nails into his thigh through the thin fabric. “Don’t make it sound like a date. And no more texts either.”

If Sebastian’s insulted he doesn’t act it, and soon he’s closing the distance between them at a slow and calculated pace. “Any new requests?”

“I’d like you to stay the night again.” He casts down his eyes and feels a hand down his chest–he’s still all there, broken heart and everything, he hasn’t yet caved under the crushing weight of his betrayal. “Money’s on the table if you want to check.”

“That’s okay,” Sebastian says, and takes another few steps in his direction, adding, “I trust you,” before a finger pries at his chin, forcing his eyes up. But before he can bring much of anything into focus Sebastian’s breath ghosts over his mouth and he parts his lips in a gasp, need canceling his shame.

His eyes search Sebastian’s, but this seems a language they both speak–Sebastian’s tongue traces a wet line over his bottom lip, then meets the tip of his. It’s strange and filthy, licking at each other, deeper and deeper, but it unspools the tightness in his chest.

Sebastian’s lips close around his tongue and he sucks on it while his hands massage his shoulders–he moans and blood rushes down to his groin, his cock jerks and doesn’t stop, his desire so savage that he melts against the taller man’s body and pushes his tongue out further.

But that’s when Sebastian starts pulling back, easing back little by little, slow, until they’re kissing, small short nips at each other’s lips.

“That’s better,” Sebastian whispers, applying one additional kiss to his lips, still so close like he’s a moth drawn to flame, a sensual lingering presence, only he’s not the prey, not the hunted. He’s not sure which one of them is.

He licks his lips, swallows, reality slowly asserting itself like he’s waking up from a dream, slightly dazed but invigorated, jolted awake from a restless slumber.

“Thank you,” he says, his anxiety a distant memory.

“Can’t have you all tense, love.”

And like that the dream disappears, slips through the jagged pieces of a heart broken, past fears and insecurities, gone, while the reality where he’s alone satisfying himself with a total stranger remains.

He’s not Sebastian’s _love_. He’s not anybody’s love. Not anymore.

Gentle disquietude flits through him again, a whisper in the shadows.

He shakes his head. “I have some wine–” he says, rushes past Sebastian straight into the kitchen, almost too fast to catch Sebastian’s surprised, “Okay.”

His hands shake, glasses clanging together too loud to bare, but as he sneaks a glance into the living room he catches Sebastian taking off his jacket, one of the sleeves catching at the leather band around his wrist, the curve his back makes reminiscent of an equation waiting to be solved.

Sebastian’s glancing around the living room when he comes back with two glasses of white wine, his eyes fallen to a framed picture of the Eiffel tower above a small cabinet where he keeps official documents.

“You ever been?” Sebastian asks, curling a hand around the glass handed to him, the gentle clang of his rings much less intrusive.

“No.” His eyes fall to the picture on top of the cabinet–someone, it must’ve been Quinn, had stood it right side up again, and he still can’t look at it. “Not yet.”

He should take the picture down, it’s too much of a reminder of a future no longer in his cards, but in lieu of tearing it down now he takes a sip from his wine, the bitter taste nothing compared to the pain the mismatched edges inside his chest cause.

Sebastian doesn’t touch his wine. “You don’t like it?” he asks, self-conscious of the fact that he’s the one making this look like a date now. What’s he even thinking?

“I try not to drink too much when I’m–” _on the job_ , but by now Sebastian must’ve realized he doesn’t like their arrangement voiced in too specific terms, so he shrugs, “I’m more of a beer guy,” Sebastian tries to soothe it over with a smile, but unease grips him with its viselike claws.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He grabs both glasses and puts them down on the table, heart beating shame and indignation.

Sebastian’s hands land on his shoulders moments later. “Blaine, relax,” he says, voice a low whisper in his ear while his fingers drift down his arms. “You can’t chase me away.”

“It’s not that,” he breathes, tempted towards the body behind him. “I’m not–” He sighs. “I’m not this guy.”

Hands slide around his waist, Sebastian’s groin pushes up against his ass, fingertips teasing past the waistband of his trousers, where they stay, caressing small circles.

“But you need this,” Sebastian says, presses a kiss behind his ear his skin buzzes with, tracing more kisses down his neck.

His head tilts back, eyes closing. “I do,” he whispers, and Sebastian’s fingers chance lower.

“Then let me be who you need me to be.” Sebastian cups his crotch, palming slow circles over his cock to get him hard.

“Take control for a while,” he rushes out in a single breath, falling forward onto his hands, which leave sweaty prints on the table’s surface–his breathing deepens thinking about the permission he gives Sebastian, but his skin flushes hot, unease suppressed by a corporal desire, heated skin against his own, ass fucked raw. He wants to feel Sebastian for days. “You decide.”

And Sebastian doesn’t say another word, he rips the back of his shirt from his pants and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not this guy either, to go for blind passion over love, but that got ripped away and the only thing that shuts out the pain is this, Sebastian’s fingers leaving marks down his back, his other hand getting him rock hard.

Sebastian grabs a handful of his hair and yanks hard, forcing him upright again, his body undecided between the pleasure and the pain–the button on his pants pops, his zipper undone, and soon Sebastian has one hand fisting his cock, the other cupping his ass, teasing between his cheeks.

“Yes,” he breathes, works his ass back to feel Sebastian deeper but he pulls back every time he comes close. “Sebastian, please.”

“I decide?” Sebastian inquires, the lilting tease forgiven in lieu of his immediate pleasure, his pants inching down his legs every time Sebastian’s hand makes him shiver, a tight fist stroking down his cock and squeezing, idle around the tip, faster, slower, no rhythm to it whatsoever.

“Y-Yes,” he stutters as he reaches back, but Sebastian’s still fully clothed, an odd turn-on, because the flawless body underneath all the layers has become equally enticing.

Sebastian pushes him down and bends him over the table, deeper than before, the wood cold through his shirt–he feels Sebastian’s jeans against his bare ass and he circles his hips backwards, the moan he coaxes from Sebastian a welcome reward.

But then he’s gone–his hands are gone and with them his body heat, Sebastian leaves him wanting, craving, _dying_ for more and he should know better by now. His skin exposed to the air with little promise of anything more drives him out of his mind within seconds, but just as his anxiety tries to jolt him into a frenzy a hand wires through his hair, long fingers tighten in his curls and he’s pinned down, trapped like a caged animal.

And he hears the very distinct clang of a belt undone, a button pop, a zipper eased open.

His nails scratch at the table.

“I decide,” Sebastian says, though he’s none too sure who it’s for–he’s accepted this desire, to lose control under deft fingers that have memorized where to push, where to pull, where to linger.

A filthy wet pop sounds behind him, explained only when Sebastian caresses two fingers between his cheeks, warmed up by his mouth. “You like that, killer?” Sebastian circles his hole, never quite the way he needs, but they have all night, they both know it.

Then, without warning, before he gets the chance to answer or brace himself, Sebastian’s tongue replaces his fingers–he cries out, a fist hits the table he scarcely registers as his own and his back arches deep, his body spools with the heady desire. Sebastian licks lines from his balls to his hole, long, short, the same lack of rhythm his hand demonstrated and soon his ass is wet and slick with Sebastian’s spit.

Sebastian bites at his ass, hard enough to leave a mark, but his pleasure reigns louder, open-mouthed kisses trailed up his back while Sebastian hikes his shirt up. It isn’t long before Sebastian’s crotch crowds against his ass again.

“Please,” he pants, breaths short and stunted once Sebastian’s entire body curls around his, his necklaces a cold line up his back–a muscle pulls in his neck as he tries to turn his head, treated to the sight of Sebastian spitting in his hand, reaching down for his own cock, and slicking it up with his spit.

His mind goes blank.

No one’s ever fucked him without the proper prep before, and he can’t tell if this excites or scares him. He never paid Sebastian for anything more specific than pleasure, he made things up as they went along, but maybe he should set some more ground rules.

“Don’t worry, killer,” Sebastian hushes, the most delicious break in his voice as he strokes himself. “I don’t plan on hurting you.”

He releases a shaky breath and soon Sebastian spreads his cheeks, settles his cock in the cleft of his ass and strokes a first tentative thrust–he shudders at the contact of Sebastian’s cock against his hole. Sebastian thrusts again, shallow as if still gauging his reaction, but quickly picks up his pace when all he manages are croaky moans from deep within his throat.

His breath condenses on the table, lungs unable to fill with Sebastian heavy on top of him, the tight space between them rampant with heat that threatens to sear right through him.

Sebastian stands up, the new angle conducive to longer thrusts and his breath hitches every time Sebastian’s tip brushes against his hole. A hand between his shoulder blades keeps him pinned to the table and the longer they go, the more of Sebastian’s pleasure becomes audible–he breathes a moan every few seconds, shudders a throaty gasp or two and he heard those sounds often enough on their first night together to know Sebastian’s close.

A hand pulls at his hair again, while the other digs hard into his hip and he wants it, the guttural cry of Sebastian’s orgasm, come streaking his back, but as his lips part and a fist wraps around his cock he cries his own release, screams it, semen spilling all over the table beneath him, and he fucks forward in Sebastian’s hand to prolong the pleasure.

Sebastian fucks himself between his cheeks, every part of him oversensitive but he grabs back for Sebastian’s ass, forces himself into a rhythm pleasurable for them both, until Sebastian’s body goes taut against him, the first drops of come trickling down on him, beading at the small of his back followed by a deep stuttered moan as Sebastian rides through his orgasm.

Lips push a kiss between his shoulder blades and his skin crawls, but he can’t help a smile, his body sated, any fear or anxiety long gone, his shame hiding somewhere deep until he wakes up tomorrow morning.

“Thank you,” he breathes as Sebastian covers his body with his own once more.

“Don’t thank me yet, killer,” Sebastian whispers. “We’ve got all night.”


	3. Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sebastian shows up on his doorstep again, Blaine has a very different request.

“Hey, killer.”

They’re always the same, the same two words that tumble from Sebastian’s lips as he stalks into his apartment, all confidence and zero shame, piercing green eyes drilling holes in him as if he’s trying to discern his inner workings, the springs and coils that make him tick like he’s a clockwork man waiting to be fixed.

Maybe he is, he can’t tell anymore, can’t justify Sebastian’s being here in any sane manner nor can he ignore the exciteful anticipation that crawls between his shoulder blades every time Sebastian answers his call – he’s even come to like the nickname, _killer_. Whatever it means it implies some sort of connection to Sebastian, even if that’s not the intent behind it – for all he knows it’s what he calls all his clients, or the ones whose names he can’t remember. But it’s become special to him all the same.

“What’s wrong?” comes Sebastian’s next question when his initial greeting remains unanswered.

Not for the first time he turns his back on Sebastian, waits for the taller man to draw closer, to place his hands atop his shoulders and massage at the pinpoint anxiety knitting them into a tight mess. Last time his answer came hesitant but clear, he wasn’t this person, didn’t pay for sex or even needed the physicality if there was a real connection to be had. Now he can’t say it, how he’s been forced to become that man, how sexual release chases everything away, the pain and heartache, stress and shame, guilt and–

– just, absolutely everything.

“It’s okay if you’re not up for this.” Sebastian’s lips rest against the back of his neck, breath warm and welcome to his skin, the added pressure of a few touches enough to ground him. He’d be content to have Sebastian close, to have him hold him all night long, wire his fingers through his curls, skim soothing palms down his back.

Isn’t that what people say about escorts? That they’re hired for their companionship, for creating the semblance of a bond their clients look for in other people, but can’t seem to find? Except he hasn’t looked, he hasn’t even so much as tried, he can’t stand the thought of opening up to anyone new only to be reminded how his last love got ripped away so mercilessly – it hurts too much to think about, the mere possibility of a new heartbreak, so he simply satisfies his carnal desires with Sebastian.

But today–

Today marks one year. One year without Simon, one year of love gone and his inability to break free from the disconcerting thought that he’ll never find it again. Sebastian erases those thoughts, so maybe now he needs it more than ever, tiptoe the line between pleasure and pain, let Sebastian take control under his meticulous supervision.

Yet he stands paralyzed, not by shame this time around, but by guilt.

Simon’s gone, nothing can change that, but what would he think? Would he want him to move on? Would he accept that his boyfriend could find love with another man, when their love had been far from over? Or would he be more likely to forgive him for this transgression, his undisclosed desires paid for, his Friday nights spent with a man who doesn’t love him at all ...

He turns around, skin buzzing, allowing Sebastian to smooth his hands down his chest until they rest on his abdomen, the taller man undoubtedly noticing how erratic his breathing has become. But if he wonders Sebastian doesn’t show it, simply waits for him to speak.

He licks his lips and lays a hand on top of Sebastian’s, mustering the courage to ask, to beg more of Sebastian than he ever has. “You do anything I ask, right?”

A smile pulls Sebastian’s lips askew. “To a certain degree.”

His heart thuds dully in his chest, like a hollow echo in a dried out desert cave – he’s terrified, more than he’s ever been, that this will somehow prove disrespectful towards his previous relationship. But he longs to be numb, to be stripped bare and driven insane by a body that’s gotten to know his, another night with a boy who sells his body for sex, simple, pure, no strings attached.

“Pretend you’re my boyfriend,” he chokes out, tears stinging the corners of his eyes but shoulders no longer weighted by that stunning sense of shame.

And Sebastian slips into it no questions asked, a hand reaches for his face and a thumb rubs circles into his jaw, eyes molten with the promise that he won’t be judged for this. “The sweet loving boyfriend who comes home after a long day of work.”

“Yes,” he breathes, and closes his eyes, imagines another man in Sebastian’s stead, and what follows matches the promise made: a sweet loving kiss placed to his lips, a new scenario in a familiar setting. He returns the kiss readily, lips pushing against Sebastian’s lazy but certain, with no need for it to go further just yet.

“How was your day, baby?” Sebastian whispers, the deep cadence of his voice circling down his spine.

“So long.” He shivers, Sebastian’s lips trailing down his neck, fingers deftly unmaking the uncertainty, pulling it apart and leaving it in broken pieces on the floor. “Too long.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I wanna forget.” He pulls Sebastian closer and locks his arms around the small of his back, their bodies pressed together and his desperate need for this becomes equally frightening. “Make me forget.”

“I missed you.” Sebastian plays his part like no other – he has to force himself not to think about it too much, to not imagine other men with similar requests and Sebastian falling in line like a lap dog. Tonight Sebastian is his, a puppet with strings for him to pull, each action scripted to his needs.

“I missed you too,” he whispers.

“Let me make love to you.”

If Sebastian hadn’t suggest it he never would’ve been brave enough to ask, but yes, yes, he’ll let Sebastian make love to him, peel back every layer between his broken heart and his chance at repair, turn him into a real boy again who functions in a world still spinning too fast for him to keep up.

Sebastian finds his eyes, one hand cupped around his neck, soothing circles deep into his skin – he wants the fantasy for a blindfold, obscuring pain and heartache and people who might rightly judge him. In here he takes control of his own desire, with Sebastian his willing participant. Fingers wire through his like a swift and gentle promise and next thing he’s being pulled towards the bedroom, where the fantasy will become flesh and sweat, hot hands and teeth clashing and come staining the sheets.

“Lie back,” Sebastian commands, toeing off his shoes and removing his shirt, revealing his slender body with taut muscles and a storm of freckles, a butterfly tattoo over one of his hips; he unclasps his necklaces and takes off the leather band around his wrist, the ring around his middle finger dancing circles on the nightstand once he deposits it there. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

He lies down on the bed, fully clothed save for his shoes, and watches Sebastian take supplies out of the drawer in the nightstand. He shifts nervously once Sebastian approaches the bed – he opens his legs so that Sebastian can lie down between them, but the taller hovers over him on all fours, unpredictable all over again, his heartbeat losing its rhythm.

Sebastian stares at him for a long time, enough for some of his anxiety to return, even though Sebastian’s close enough for him to feel the heat from his body, and rather than anxiety his skin starts crawling, begging to be touched. Then, tentatively, another promise, a present to be unwrapped, Sebastian leans in and brushes his lips along his, deliberately settling his groin down against his.

All the urgency that informed Sebastian’s movements the other nights has disappeared, every movement comes calculated and slow, deliberate; his groin ghosts over his, the barely-there friction allowing for an aching build-up that’s almost loving. And then Sebastian kisses him, equally slow but lingering, a reverence to his kiss and touches he’s been desperate for. His lips travel down, his kisses breathy caresses down his skin, buttons on his shirt undone with purpose.

Sebastian’s breathing has picked up along with his, and as his lips linger right below his bellybutton it’s as if the taller steels himself for what’s to come, as if he has to steady his own nerves or keep his arousal in check to make this perfect for him – his mind reels at the thought; it’s what a boyfriend might do, give his desire equal attention.The button on his pants pops, long fingers pulling the zipper down, skating the fabric down his hips. One layer. Then, he feels a kiss stamped to his hipbone, before his boxers suffer the same fate and are discarded to the floor. Two layers.

He leans up on his elbows, animated by a shameless desire to see Sebastian’s lips red and swollen around his cock, but once he catches that gleam of green he realizes it might be something even deeper, not just carnal. Sebastian’s hard and alluring edges have softened, his touches informed by an almost worship, and when he looks at him now, seated between his legs, he sees a boy, not a man.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asks, reverently palming over one of his hipbones.

“You look– different.” He swallows around the sudden fear that what he’s doing is wrong, that it’s illegal, that he’s disrespecting himself and his past relationship with Simon, but Sebastian even moreso. He’s paying Sebastian to pretend to be someone he’s not. “Without all the–”

“Hey,” Sebastian hushes so softly, so genuinely, and settles down over his body again, forcing him back on the mattress and printing kisses along his jawline. “I’m exactly where I need to be, you hear me?” he says, one hand twisting circles in his hair.

He closes his eyes to the deep-voiced confession, wraps his heart and entire existence around it. What he’s doing isn’t wrong, he means to become a real boy again and Sebastian’s a way to bridge the gap. This isn’t a mistake. He’s exactly where he needs to be too.

Sebastian seemingly takes his silence as an answer, because before he knows it he’s moved between his legs again and his tongue teases at the tip of his cock, precociously licking around the rim – he just about crawls out of his skin, Sebastian’s lips nipping at his cock, never quite taking him in his mouth. He hears the distant pop of the bottle of lube, two fingers teasing at his hole.

“Sebastian,” he breathes, the tip of the taller’s finger thrusting inside, slightly deeper with each passing second. Fingers tangle into beautiful brown hair until he can’t take it anymore and pulls at it hard, forcing Sebastian up again, who curls a single digit inside his ass. Their mouths find each other again in a mad game of push and pull, all tongues, some of the softness gone in favor of his ravage desire. “ _More_ ,” he begs, a second finger soon added to the game.

They make out softly moaning to each other’s lips, lazy, effortless, as if they’ve only ever known each other’s mouths but aren’t yet done exploring the intricacies of what those mouths might offer. His arms are locked around Sebastian’s neck to keep him in place, one leg draped along Sebastian’s hip so Sebastian can finger him open, but it’s the give and take between their lips that occupies his thoughts – he never allowed room for this before, true intimacy he’d only felt in committed relationships, gentle loving care he never thought he’d find again, not after losing Simon. But here he is in a stranger’s arms, safeguarded from the rest of the world, and while this is paid for, while this might even prove a mistake, he needed the confirmation that it wasn’t lost to him.

“We can keep going like this,” Sebastian whispers in between two kisses, the fingers curling deep inside him coaxing out a whimper. His body’s getting away from him, a distant entity that’ll let loose any moment now. “If you like.”

And he whines a gasp against Sebastian’s lips, kissing down his neck, fingers digging into the small of his back because yes, _yes_ , what more could anyone ever want beyond this, what could they want more than this, a soft-edged boy holding all the pieces of his broken heart, trying to superglue them back together, and almost definitely succeeding.

“I want you to come for me, baby,” Sebastian whispers in his ear and he knows he won’t last much longer, they’ve been at this at a maddeningly slow pace, Sebastian’s patience sheltering him from any guilt or shame that might’ve made him crumble at the seams. He reaches between their bodies, both their cocks hard and heavy, and grabs his fingers around them, holding them together in a tight grip as he moves his hand slowly up and down.

It’s not like all the other times they’ve been together, when they fucked or sucked each other off, when Sebastian had him bent over the living room table and wet his hole with his tongue – his orgasm builds in infinitesimal small increments, he can feel the itch drawing closer with a Cheshire cat like grin, gently and purposeful, and when he reaches the point of precipice Sebastian’s right there with him, their bodies shaking with orgasm, his cries muffled when Sebastian covers his lips with his own, Sebastian’s fingers slowly easing out of him. They don’t pull apart, they don’t try to catch a breath, Sebastian cups the back of his head and flips him on his back, licking deep into his mouth until he loses sense of time and space.

He can’t tell how many moments pass before Sebastian does ease back, quiets their mouths so that his heartbeat might find peace too. “Ten seconds,” Sebastian says softly, before he gets up stark naked and heads into the bathroom, time he uses to toss aside dirty sheets, pulling the duvet up from the foot of the bed. Sebastian returns with a damp towel, which he gently draws down his stomach, cleaning off dried semen and sweat, all in the comfortable silence fallen over the room.

Soon Sebastian curls his long slender body around him underneath the sheets, warm and secure, his heart a rickety semblance of what it once was.

“Thank you,” he says.

And Sebastian could answer with something as trite as _the customer is king_ , but instead simply kisses his shoulder, like an actor playing his part, running through his lines, he the director orchestrating the whole thing. Yet right in that moment they’re not those people, not actors, and Sebastian’s not a puppet. Sebastian might just be the boy who’s divined his inner workings, fixed the clockwork man running two half seconds slow.

Sebastian plants another kiss on his shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Book launch.” He huffs, reminded too quickly of the insane to-do list that’ll still be waiting for him in the morning. The only good thing about this entire week was knowing it would eventually end up with him in Sebastian’s arms – though he hadn’t imagined it quite like this. He and Sebastian have never really talked. “The author’s a pain in the ass.”

Long fingers draw down his arm. “How come?”

“Just, you know–” He sighs, turning in Sebastian’s arms. He refuses to go into work mode right now, work mode meant stressing over the next angry phone call, trying to please authors in a market downsizing in profits by the minute and his boss demanding results; he stopped liking his job quite a while ago. “–crazy demands, unrealistic expectations. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Okay,” Sebastian concedes immediately, rearranging the sheets around them. “You want me to stay.”

He can’t tell if it’s a question or a foregone conclusion. Sebastian wasn’t supposed to stay the first time, he hadn’t planned on it because he hadn’t known what to expect, but after a few rounds and about three orgasms his need for this boy’s body superseded his need to honor Simon’s memory by keeping his side of the bed empty. He’d needed a body close. Any body.

Now he needs Sebastian’s.

“Yes,” he says, entangling his legs with Sebastian’s, the money he left on the living room table a distant memory. Sebastian kisses his forehead, a hand carding through his hair.

That’s how he falls asleep.


End file.
